


Bound By Blood

by ThereWillBeCubes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood, M/M, halloween fic ?, possessive shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereWillBeCubes/pseuds/ThereWillBeCubes
Summary: okay this wasn't initially a halloween fic but a friend pointed out it would be great ahahaShance for your soulwarning for blood and a bit of violence





	

**Author's Note:**

> okay this wasn't initially a halloween fic but a friend pointed out it would be great ahaha  
> Shance for your soul
> 
> warning for blood and a bit of violence

-

 

Shiro has one hand on his waist, steadying him. They move in rhythm, beyond the sights of the other nobles on the dancefloor, obscured by the long velvet curtains Shiro’s family favoured, a deep, heavy red that spilled over the shining tiles like blood.

 

Lance tries to pull at him, feet lightly skimming, smile playful.

 

“We don’t have to go slow,” he says slyly, sliding his hand along the curve of Shiro’s arm, and Shiro’s smile becomes private.

 

Lance’s amusement flickers with surprise and little bursts of anxiety.

 

With Shiro’s hand grasped around his, they run through the halls, laughter threatening to burst from their mouths.

 

They stop in a room full of covered furniture, a rack with dusty dresses and old furs. A dressing room that looked untouched for decades. Shiro shuts the door and throws open the curtains to the full moon. He coaxes some old candles to life, while Lance hums his own tune, taking the moment to appreciate the full silhouette of Shiro’s… impressive form.

 

They giggle amongst themselves, twirling to their own rhythm, with nothing but the moonlight and the low burning candles. Shiro’s skin seems almost luminously white, eyes catching the light before disappearing again into deep shadow. His smile is… soft. An intimacy Lance was almost... afraid, to feel. To accept.

 

He’d taken the first step, knowing that it may… would, lead to this. To moments that grew closer and deeper until neither of them could separate themselves from the other. Lance had known that. Had known it could never be, no matter what Shiro said.

 

“Shiro…” he starts, voice uneasy with the sorrow creeping through his heart.

 

“Lance?” Shiro asks softly. He knows. His eyes are sad.

 

“We can’t-”

 

“I love you, Lance,” Shiro states, pressing his fingers tightly into Lance’s waist, as if he thought Lance might flee at the very statement. He was very nearly right, as every muscle in Lance’s body shuddered, thoughts and doubts and fear condensing in a moment to one point.

 

Shiro loved him.

 

He’s waiting, and Lance should refuse him now.

 

“I love you too,” Lance whispered, and Shiro smiled. He clasped their fingers.

 

There’s a mirror, floor length, edged with rather tarnished silver; an oddity in the well-maintained Shirogane household. It’s surface was dusty, a little warped, but there was no mistaking himself, tall, in the flowing white dress Shiro gifted him, the roses pinned to his hair.

 

Hands clasped in air.

 

Lance looks slowly to Shiro, and his heart shrinks back at the face staring back at him. Closed, expressionless.

 

His eyes travel once more to the mirror, not wanting to, because if he didn’t look, he could pretend Shiro was there with him in the reflection.

 

But he wasn’t. Lance seemed to be standing alone, the moonlight falling onto his body. The face in the mirror stares back, eyes wide with horror, his body trembling.

 

There’s a cool touch to his face.

 

Lance jolts violently, trying to jump back, but Shiro is strong, too strong, too fast, keeping a tight grip. He pulls Lance towards him, pressing him so their bodies are flush, and Lance’s heart races with adrenalin and terror, blood heating.

 

Shiro takes a deep breath, seeming to steady himself.

 

“No need to be frightened,” he murmurs, arm wrapping around, free hand gently but firmly tilting Lance’s head.

 

He kisses him, tenderly, and Lance almost gags at his too-cold tongue, jumping as he feels the tiniest scrape on his lip. Shiro stiffens, a sound of pleasure rumbling from his chest as he laps up the tiny beads of blood.

 

Those eyes bloom colour, a deep, rich red, ringed with midnight black. When Shiro smiles his canines have lengthened, and are sharply tipped. They drip with something too thin to be saliva, and Lance shivers.

 

“Your heart is racing, my love,” Shiro murmurs, stroking Lance’s cheek with a thumb. It pauses, and Shiro closes his eyes.

 

“So warm.”

 

Lance was food. A part of him, the part not overrun with primal fear of a predator, was heartbroken. Of course, it wasn’t him. Shiro didn’t love him despite their circumstances, didn’t care about him like that. He just saw an easy opportunity in a lonely, lovesick boy.

 

And Lance had taken his bait, hook, line and sinker.

 

A few fearful and self-pitying tears spill from his eyes.

 

“I didn’t know… how to tell you.”

 

“That you’re gonna eat me?” Lance whispered back. The roses are heavy behind his ear, the dress so goddamn light and thin. One good pull and it would come off easily.

 

“Lance. I told you, I’m going to marry you.”

 

“Then are you gonna eat me?”

 

Shiro presses gentle kisses to Lance’s trembling cheeks, susurrousing comforts into his damp skin.

 

“No, Lance,” Shiro murmurs, “no.”

 

The question burns on Lance’s tongue, was this on purpose? This room? The distance from the people; he doubts anyone will be able to hear him scream. Even if he had the strength of voice, his breath coming too short and erratic.

 

“I never wanted to hurt you, darling.”

 

Lance lets his sobs rattle out, too frightened to even flinch as Shiro wipes his tears and sweeps the hair from his eyes. Lance doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger on his lip, still open and tender. The tip of his tongue flicks over his elongated teeth. His arm slides under Lance’s waist, and with terrifying ease he sweeps him up into his arms.

 

“D-don’t…” Lance whispers, putting a shaking hand on Shiro’s chest. He’s carried along, easily as a doll, hearing the faint sounds of the party. Along the darkened walls are portraits, ancient paintings of Shirogane family members. They have darkened skin, darker than Shiro’s, solid, strong faces with sharp jaws and black eyes under thick brows. All classically handsome, all with the same calm intelligence and confidence.

 

Moonlight peers through the curtains, skating across Shiro’s face as they pass; his face is almost luminous in it, the scar across his nose striking.

 

They come through a pair of double doors, and Lance lets out a little cry as he’s carried through a bedroom that could only be Shiro’s, towards the bed covered in black and white, thick soft throws piled high, furs and woollen blankets. Did Shiro even feel the cold? Could he ever get warm?

 

“No, Shiro, no!” Lance cries, as he’s placed on the covers, immediately trying to scramble away, but Shiro whispers softly, “it’s okay, it’s okay, beloved.”

 

Lance’s heart beats erratically, a leaping bird struggling to be free of his ribcage; knowing it was beating it’s last. That with every beat, that heady, rich blood was soon going to be drawn thickly out, drawn dry until it was just a withered husk.

 

Shiro leans over him, stripping off his suit jacket, and shushing as Lance tries to wriggle free again.

 

“Let me up!” Lance says, with more force than he felt, pushing against Shiro’s chest. God, when did he get so strong? Shiro frowns, and his voice drops to a lulling tone.

 

“Lance, I’m not going to hurt you,” Shiro murmurs, “please, believe me.”

 

“You can’t say that, not after this,” Lance hisses, looking from his hurt crimson eyes to his elongated fangs, his skin is too white…

 

“I could never tell you, not before…”

 

“I loved you?” Lance choked out, unable to look at Shiro’s face any longer, it was too painful. A hand caresses the side of his face.

 

“I love you Lance,” Shiro whispers, “I knew that… that you needed to…”

 

His thumb skates over Lance’s lip, and his breath shudders.

 

“You needed to love me, like I love you. For you to… accept me.”

 

His fingers sweep down, pressing against a warm, hearty point in Lance’s neck, feeling his racing heart.

 

“You- u-used me- you-”

 

“Darling,” Shiro whispers, “I only… wanted… to make sure…”

 

“Hah-”

 

“All I wanted was to be with you. I had to be certain.”

 

“Why did you do this to me?” Lance whispered, eyes tightly shut, the sickly sweet burn of heartache creeping through his veins, “why did you let me love you?”

 

Shiro makes a noise halfway between a moan and a sob, cradling Lance in his arms.

 

“I don’t ask you to forgive me,” Shiro whispers, “but please, never doubt how much I love you.”

 

“Shiro…”

 

“I love you… Lance…”

 

“Shiro- Shiro, why-?” Lance sobbed.

 

“Lance-”

 

Lance screams when he suddenly bites, teeth sinking in deep, right into his leaping jugular. He thrashes, sobbing, hands weakly pushing at Shiro’s chest, scratching at the fabric of his white shirt. Red seeps into the collar, dribbling from Shiro’s lips as he draws deeply from Lance’s veins, and Lance can only whimper and sob, the rapid beats of his heart only quickening his demise. Shiro’s hand is tight in his hair, forcing his head back, and his thumb circles, massaging his temple in what he thought might be intended as comfort.

 

Spots swim in his vision, limbs growing terribly weak. The grip on his hair lessens, hand sliding down, to cup Lance’s jaw.

 

_He was going to die, and Shiro-_

 

Lance screams with the last of his strength. His veins, his blood, it burns, coursing through him with violent intensity, and he arches, muscles locking into place, burning, everything was _burning-_

 

“Beloved-”

 

Shiro’s voice seeps into his ear, hands cool brands on his flesh, almost soothing-

 

“Lance, my love,” he croons, “I know it hurts, I know, but love, everything is going to be just fine.”

 

Fine? Fine? He was dying, he had to be dying-

 

“I could feel it, my darling, when hid your blushes, when your heart raced, I knew, we were in love.”

 

The hands feel less cold, strangely. It’s simmering, from roiling heat, to something closer to his regular temperature.

 

“How hard it was, Lance, to not claim you sooner,” he whispered, holding him close as his howls scraped from his ragged throat. The burn was returning, now icy, Shiro’s hands almost warm in comparison.

 

“Not long now, beloved, not long, just a little longer, and it will be done…”

 

Sobbing, heaving chest, whimpering mouth; god, he felt like his body was draining out.

 

“Shh, shh, you’re doing so well, so well.”

 

The burn disappeared, but he was still cold. His bones, empty of marrow, his collapsed veins, his heart ceasing to flutter, his skin becoming tight, like stone. His body had been wrung out, everything that made him whole and living and human, gone.

 

He was hollow. He had no tears to weep, no matter how his heart ached. He had nothing.

 

Shiro lay him down, face soft, effused with affection and love.

 

“We’re going to be together forever, Lance,” he says, kissing Lance’s limp, dead hand. But Lance could still, feel it? Almost, like a ghost of sensation. He couldn’t speak, his lungs had collapsed. Yet he lived.

 

Shiro kisses his fingers again, before moving away, silently. Lance could barely move to look.

 

His entire body jerks, quivering, as a new person enters the room. They’re crying out something, but the words are meaningless, the only thing that matters is the life seeping out of them, hot and vibrant and alluring.

 

“Please, oh god, oh gods! Don’t eat me!”

 

Lance struggles to sit up, body not responding, but in a heartbeat (hah) Shiro is there, helping him up, cradling him in one arm. In the other is a struggling man, and Lance lets out a rasp and the smell of his life, coursing under his skin, swelling his lips, spiderwebbed in his eyes. He opens his mouth, panting at the heady scent.

 

Shiro kisses Lance’s cheek, dragging the man upwards with ease.

 

“The neck, my darling,” he croons, guiding Lance’s fingers to press onto his soft, warm skin, and underneath is a veritable feast, hot gushes in time with the racing of his heart.

 

“Right there, in his neck, Lance,” Shiro murmurs, and in the corner of his hazy vision Lance can see him smiling. The head is tugged back, baring that glorious expanse.

 

“Nooo!” the man screeches, “I beg of you!”

 

Lance’s first try is clumsy with need and inexperience, and Shiro wipes the blood dribbling from his chin, sucking on his own fingers. But on the second, the points of his teeth sink true, and Lance’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head with pleasure as blood fills his mouth, deliciously metallic and warm. He moans in the back of his throat, drawing as much as he can with each pull of his lips. Shiro’s voice is in his ear, murmuring words of encouragement, but Lance needs none. Why would he ever stop?

 

He feels a flutter of despair in his newly beating heart as the man stops his struggling, his heart slowing, and his skin growing grey. There was little life left in him now.

 

When he can taste no more, Lance’s teeth slide out, and Shiro lets the man’s withered body drop to the floor as he presses their lips together in a searing kiss. Lance feels him sucking the last remnants of blood from his mouth, tongue daring and fangs nipping. He nips in retaliation, Shiro laughing breathlessly into him.

 

Shiro dips him back on the covers; the pure white now stained deep red with Lance’s blood, hands easing down the sleeves of Lance’s similarly bloodstained dress.

 

“A wedding dress?” Lance asks, voice husky with desire, and Shiro mirrors it, eyes blown wide with intoxicating red.

 

“We are bonded for life, are we not?” he asks. His hands roam freely over Lance’s bared torso, licking his lips as he slides the dress down further.

 

“So this is my wedding night, then?” Lance purrs, the betrayal, the heartache, forced into hiding in the recesses of his mind. He just felt so goddamn _alive._

 

“Our wedding night,” Shiro says in response, husky.

 

His hands caress the shape of Lance’s cock, and to his surprise, it fills with blood, becoming heavy and hot in Shiro’s cold hand. Shiro growls, dipping his head to give it a long, hungry lick, feeling the veins under the thin skin.

 

_“Shiro-”_

 

“I’ve waited for so long Lance,” Shiro murmurs, “years and years.”

 

He strips off his own shirt, and draws the dress off entirely, letting it pool at his feet. Lance suddenly feels very small, very young, in his presence, but Shiro seems to notice his sudden nervousness, leaning down to press their foreheads together.

 

“For someone I could _share_ them with, beloved,” he whispers, “so I could stop spending so much time asleep, aching, waiting.”

 

Lance shudders at the adoration in his voice.

 

“And now I have you-”

 

A knee slides between his bare legs.

 

“-and you have me, Lance. Forever and ever.”

  
-

**Author's Note:**

> yanderayy.tumblr.com


End file.
